


love, in its simplest form

by thetasteofsunshine



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M, this is so domestic it makes me want to cry i want a girlfriend so badly, this is that feeling, when you're sitting in your kitchen late at night with most of the lights still on, you know that feeling you get
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:27:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22183303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thetasteofsunshine/pseuds/thetasteofsunshine
Summary: Scorpius couldn't sleep. So, he did what he always did, which was bake something. Albus decided to help. Sorta.//this is just pure fluff and so domestic that it's nauseating in the way that makes you yearn for someone of your own
Relationships: Scorpius Malfoy & Albus Severus Potter, Scorpius Malfoy/Albus Severus Potter
Comments: 4
Kudos: 67
Collections: Scorbus Song Fics





	love, in its simplest form

**Author's Note:**

> This is a part of SunshineScorpius's song fic collection, I got the song "Never Seen Anything 'Quite Like You'" by the Script, and the fic is very (read: VERY) loosely based off of the song.

Scorpius always had a penchant for baking at the most random of times, like that one time he made gingerbread cookies in the middle of August, or when it was five in the morning, but his craving for carrot cake was unquenchable.

This would definitely be marked as one of those times. He had gotten home from vacation not even two hours ago, the alien feeling of not mentally being home still fresh, and yet here he was, measuring out the flour to make brownies. It was that strange hour in time when it was too early to go to sleep but still far too late to be making baked goods.

He called it “vacation” in his head and most of the time out loud as well. The word “honeymoon” made him think of an upper-middle-class couple where the wife has bible verses in her Instagram captions and the husband pretends he’s not racist and refuses to take off his baseball hat. “Honeymoon” made him think of heteros, which was honestly just gross, so he used the term as little as he possibly could.

Not that he didn’t like the idea of a honeymoon. He’d just spent the last two weeks in a little Muggle beach town that was filled with enough antique stores, sweet shops, and vintage style restaurants to make him swoon. The entire town felt like a time capsule to an unknown era, and Scorpius had fallen in love. The entire time had felt like a dream, especially with Albus (his  _ husband _ . He had a  _ husband _ ) with him the entire time.

A crashing sound, followed by a string of colorful phrases, was heard from down the hallway and a few moments later, Albus (speak of the devil) stumbled out of their bedroom, still muttering curses under his breath.

“Art thee okay, mine own dearest?” Scorpius asked in an exaggerated Shakespearean voice.

“Aye, I hast stubbed mine own toe,” Albus replied in the same tone.

“I hope you know that I’m not gonna kiss it better,” Scorpius said, dropping the act as Albus laughed and walked over to the kitchen island, where Scorpius was now rolling out dough.

“Baking again?” Albus asked as he hugged Scorpius from behind, tucking his hands into the pocket of Scorpius’ hoodie that they’d bought at a lighhouse history museum and resting his chin on his shoulder (he was the perfect height for it, with Scorpius being just a few inches taller than him, something that he’d been quite aggravated about in their sixth year).

“Yeah. It feels weird going to sleep right away. Like a held breath.” Albus gave a murmur of assent and Scorpius could feel him nod into his shoulder.

They stood in silence for a good long while, that comfortable quiet with no music, the sound of the air conditioning turning on and the creaks of a house that isn’t quite yet known. It was a warm feeling of contentedness and comfort.

Once the brownies were in the oven (Albus was rather miffed at having to let go to avoid being burned by the oven door), they took to sitting on the kitchen floor. Scorpius picked at a small hole in his pajama pants, a ridiculous pair with cats shooting lasers out of their eyes that he’d bought as a joke but proceeded to wear far too much.

“It’s weird that we’re, like, married,” Albus said, twisting the ring on his left hand. Scorpius must have given him a strange look, because he followed up quickly with, “Not that I’m regretting it or anything. Absolutely not, on the contrary. But…” Albus sighed before linking their hands together. “I know we’d been dating for so long, but it still feels so…”

“Premature?” Scorpius asked.

“Yeah. Like we’re doing it wrong or something.”

“I get that,” Scorpius said. “The other day someone asked me if I was married and like yeah, duh,” he waved his left hand around, the dark wedding band standing out on his pale skin, “but I was wearing about five rings that day so like, fair. But it got me thinking, like, I’m  _ married _ . Am I even allowed to do that?  _ Should _ I be?”

“I sure fucking hope so,” Albus muttered before he yawned and rested his head against Scorpius’ shoulder. A glance at the clock showed that it was nearing midnight. The brownies still had twenty minutes left on them.

“I know you already know this, but I love you.”

Albus lifted his head and looked up.

“I know you already know, but I love you, too.”

They kissed, another number to add up to the thousands they’d already shared. Scorpius once hear someone say that every kiss always felt like the first with the “One™,” but Scorpius would beg to differ. His and Albus’ first kiss together had been both of their first kisses ever, and he hoped that he would be lying if he said he hadn’t gotten better at doing so after nearly seven years.

Especially with Albus, for he knew his mouth well, like a book he’d read so many times that he could recite direct passages from memory, a book that he would never stop reading. He knew his slightly crooked incisor on the left side of his mouth, of the barbel piercing under his tongue (which he’d gotten when he was nineteen and changed his mind about whether it was a good idea or a bad one at least once every week for an entire year), of the way that he’d always get chills when Scorpius would play with the hair at the back of his neck.

If Albus’s mouth was an exam, Scorpius would get beyond a one hundred percent. He remembered the first (and last) time he’d gotten completely intoxicated (at James’s bachelor party, where not a single person was sober), he’d written Albus an ode, an actual ode, professing his appreciation for Albus’s lips, using metaphors that made absolutely no sense when he came back to it the next day.

But it was kisses like these, ones that wouldn’t be described as lazy, but more of comfortable. It’s kissing for the sake of being able to kiss, of being able to be kissed, that were Scorpius’ favorites.

And soon the oven would go off, making both of them jump before falling into giggles that only arrive in the AM, and they’d eat more than the recommended amount of brownies before going to bed.

And before falling asleep, Albus would say, “Goodnight, husband,” and Scorpius would grin, that kind that can’t and shouldn’t be repressed, before repeating the phrase.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope it's known that I've never been in a relationship before, let alone even kissed anyone, plus I'm a lesbian, so this fic is literally like the opposite of me, but I really enjoyed writing it! I'd never heard of the song before this fic, and it's always nice to hear new music that you may never know of otherwise.


End file.
